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Backpedaller

The car is getting jealous of the bike, I'm sure. My poor VW skip on wheels is overflowing with stuff: sleeping bag, bodyboard, heels, flip-flops, London Library books (long overdue), old sweet wrappers, yellowing newspaper. I love my car but I don't treat it with respect.

The bike meanwhile is lovingly carried up and down to the third floor and is taken out for pleasure. I am absurdly proud of it. At a party recently, someone said, nodding in the direction of my baby leaning against the wall in the garden: "Is that your bike?" And from a few feet behind me, my date, who had been pretending not to be interested in me, piped up with an enthusiastic: "Yes, it's hers. She rode it here."

Even he's proud, but I know this love affair cannot last (with both the date and the bike - but as this is a cycling